


on placid shores

by graveExcitement



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveExcitement/pseuds/graveExcitement
Summary: Quirrel contemplates the beauty of the lake and ponders where he should go next.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	on placid shores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatOfShades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatOfShades/gifts).



The Blue Lake was utterly serene.

Quirrel had admired the acid lake of Greenpath, of course. It had its own beauty, surrounded by the lush greenery that gave the region its name. The nearby small shrine to an ancient, nameless god had been quiet and peaceful. But it could not compare to the serenity and beauty of the Blue Lake. 

It hadn't been so hard to find, in the end; a large elevator had borne him up from the City of Tears to the lake that gave the city its name. The cavern was truly a marvel, to hold the lake's weight yet allow some of it to trickle down upon the city. Was it hubris, to have chosen that cavern for the kingdom's capital? Or was it simply a matter of need: a large space was required, to house such a metropolis, and the cavern beneath the Blue Lake was the only one that would do? Either way, the work had paid off; the engineering that must have gone into the city's architecture, to account for the perpetual rain, was superb.

The City of Tears was beautiful and solemn in its eternal mourning. But the Blue Lake held none of the regret, the loss and desolation. It was still. Peaceful. Sitting at its shore and looking out at the waters, Quirrel felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. His lost memories and his forgotten (now fulfilled) duty had troubled him all the way here, but now it felt easy to lay them aside. Instead of dwelling on the holes in his memory, he could simply appreciate the beauty of the lake, and the other wonders of this kingdom.

The little wanderer had come and gone. They hadn't spoken (they never did), but they had sat beside him and gazed out onto the lake for quite some time. It was the longest he'd ever seen them remain in one place before; no restful bench, nor beautiful sight, nor luxuriating hot spring, had ever kept them still for long. Whenever the two of them crossed paths, Quirrel was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Here, though, the small bug had lingered. Perhaps the calming waters were a salve for the little one's restlessness. Or maybe it had been a deliberate act of companionship, for Quirrel's sake. He was touched, if that was so.

Eventually, however, they had taken their leave — by dashing into the lake. Quirrel had laughed, watching the little bug splash down, then jump out and dash through the air, only to fall once more into the water. In this manner, the sight of them receded into the distance, and he wondered what they sought on the other shore, though not enough to take a swim and find out for himself. The lake was enchanting, but if swimming was his aim, he would rather soak in a hot spring.

For a while, the stillness of the lake was broken by the ripples left by the little wanderer's passing. Even the ripples had been soothing to watch; in time, the waters had smoothed out once more, and all was still.

Quirrel couldn't have said how long he sat there in quiet contemplation. It could easily have been hours; he would not have contested it if someone had told him he had been there for days. But the time came when he began to feel an itching in his shell, the urge to leave and seek out new sights. He examined the urge, turning it over in his mind. He had always conceptualized himself as a wanderer, an explorer, a traveler. Yet the urge to explore Hallownest had not come from his heart alone; it was Monomon, calling him back home to fulfill his quest. Was this desire his own, or was it an echo of the call?

His duty was fulfilled. There was no more need to inspire wanderlust in him. Yet it remained, pulling him onward.

He considered it for a while, gazing out into the lake. Was there somewhere in particular he felt called to go, as the Archives had called him? No, he determined. Hallownest had many beautiful and magnificent sights that sparked his interest, but he did not feel pulled to one of them more than any other. He could admire the City of Tears, perhaps from the Spire, which he had passed by in his journey here. He could climb to the Crystal Peaks — not too far from here, if his mental map of this region was accurate. He could cross the kingdom and return to Greenpath, perhaps sit a time at its lake, though it certainly was not as grand as this one.

He could strike out anew; certainly, there were other corners of this kingdom he had yet to explore. Or he could leave the kingdom entirely, and travel to someplace entirely new. He shied away from that idea; if nothing else, he didn't want to leave before the little wanderer had finished their own quest. He didn't know if they would cross paths again, but he would not rob them of the opportunity.

But the unexplored reaches of Hallownest... yes, that would do nicely. He could start with the area on this side of the lakeshore; it seemed somber, yet peaceful. With a little effort, he got to his feet. His joints didn't thank him for all the time spent in one position, but the time spent resting his body and mind was well worth it.

He looked down and considered his nail. It was a beautiful work of craftsmanship, and he had carried it for longer than he could remember. Only now, he recalled it had been a gift from Monomon; the last gift he would ever receive from her, along with her mask. The mask was gone now, and so was she. So was Uumuu, her prize creation. He'd known just where to strike it, known every weak point, though he'd pushed the question of where that knowledge came from aside during the battle.

The nail was heavy in his hand. He knew Monomon had wanted him to be able to protect himself, and thus protect her, for he had unknowingly carried the final key to her seal on his travels. Even now that his duty was complete, he was sure she would want him to have it for his own sake. Yet the idea of wearing it at his hip seemed unpalatable now.

After a minute's thought, he planted the nail into the soft earth, a little ways away from the shore. He had carried Monomon with him for an age, but no longer. He was perhaps the only one left alive who had known her. She deserved a grave.

He laid his hand on the nail's hilt. It had served him well, and he had served her well, and now it was done. He would remember her, but he could leave it behind.

"Goodbye," he said at last, and after one last lingering glance at the lake, he departed. After a moment's thought, he decided to turn back towards the elevator. He still intended to explore the surrounding area, but he had just recalled that there was supposed to be a hot spring in the upper City, and his old shell could use a soak.

Perhaps he would find the little wanderer there. They had left in the opposite direction, but with their penchant for running about, he wouldn’t be surprised to encounter them once more.


End file.
